


Tell Your Story

by MirellaPryce



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Everyone loves Alec Lightwood, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hamilton inspired, He dies of old age though, Hurt/Comfort, I swear this is a happy story, M/M, Multi, Platonic Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirellaPryce/pseuds/MirellaPryce
Summary: For all the years Magnus has been preparing himself for it, losing Alec, his Alexander, still hits him hard.Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?





	1. Time for Tears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katikat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikat/gifts).



_Who lives_

_Who dies_

_Who tells your story_

_..._

 

For all the years Magnus has been preparing himself for it, losing Alec, his Alexander, still hits him hard. Part of him wants to scold himself for crying. Alec had a good, long life. A happy life. He knows Alec was happy, despite everything.

Knowing that doesn’t stop the tears. The only reason he stops crying at all by the time the funeral rolls around is because he’s run out of tears. They hold the pyre in the cemetery for all the Downworlders in Alec’s life. Magnus would laugh at the absurd amount of them if he could find it in him to laugh. All he feels now is hollow. Both his sons are at his side, and holding his hands. They’ve long grown up and left home, but it fills a bit of the yawning chasm to have them here. Rafael tried to hold back his tears at first. Tried to be the strong Shadowhunter he was raised to be, but as soon as the fire started, Max had started crying, and then the flood works passed on to his older brother.

Really, other than his own and the Silent Brothers’, Magnus observes there isn’t a dry eye to be seen. Alec’s siblings are holding each other up, and all their children are falling apart around them. What must all these crying Shadowhunters think of him? Such a proud people that barely cry, even at funerals, and here they all are crying their hearts out. Yet here he stands, unable to cry, only able to hold and support the family Alexander gave him as the Silent Brothers speak their Latin, and take Alec’s ashes down into the City of Bones to enforce the magic that protects them all.

He’s barely aware of Jace, Isabelle, and all their children and grandchildren, and everyone else coming to hug him. It’s a miracle any of them made it to this age. There’s no doubt in his mind that Alexander was no small part of that miracle. If anyone says anything to him, Magnus doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear much of anything until he’s shuffled into a car heading home.

Max sits beside him in the back, and rests his head on his Papa’s shoulder. They bypass the reception altogether. “Are you going to put Dad in your box Papa?” Max asks quietly.

Magnus swallows, and he thought there were no more tears, but his own body threatens to prove him wrong. His voice cracks when he finally finds the answer. “No. Not yet Blueberry. The box is for memories and-“ he pauses, tears running down his face. And here he thought he might get one day this week where his makeup wasn’t ruined. “And Alexander isn’t a memory yet.” He knows Rafael is watching them through the driver’s mirror. “He’s still here,” Magnus gasps, clutching his chest. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.” His voice cracks on the confession, and he feels warm tears on his shoulder, and the car they’re in pulls to the side of the road, and the next thing he knows, Rafael is climbing into the back seat with them, and they must make quite the ridiculous crying mess. Neither of his sons seems to remember that they’re adults in that moment, because they’re both climbing into his lap like they always did when they were younger, and all he can do is hold them close, crying until the sky turns dark.

Max portals them home in the end, and they all fall asleep together, exhausted, and hurting.


	2. Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max tries to help, but Magnus just isn't getting better...

It’s a month later, and Max, who doesn’t have a wife, husband and children to take care of like Rafael stays with their father.

His Papa isn’t getting better, and he doesn’t seem to be moving on. Max can’t even clean out some of the more mundane things left behind by his late Dad, without Magnus snapping at him. He made the mistake of clearing out his toothbrush and medicine from the washroom, and his Papa had a meltdown, because it was just one more sign that Alec was gone, and not coming back.

Max got his Dad and Uncle’s penchant for cleaning, especially when he’s dealing with a lot of stress. That’s how he finds it one day, amongst all his dad’s books – the journal his Papa gave to his Dad of all his life up until they met. He hasn’t seen it for years. He remembers his Dad pulling it out sometimes when him and Rafe wanted a more adventurous bed time story than mundane fairy tales. He looks through it now, and has an idea, although he’s not sure how well it will be received.

He finds his Papa curled on a barstool in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. Max knows it’s not for him, but he sits down across from his father and takes the second mug anyway. He sees the moment Magnus is about to protest, and the moment he swallows it back. Max drinks the coffee left out for his late Dad, and passes the journal across the island. Magnus only stares at it blankly. He knows what it is, but, obviously he doesn’t see why Max is giving it to him.

“I’m not saying you should put Dad away in a box yet,” Max says quietly, putting his mug down, “but your whole life is in this book. Maybe you could write in Dad’s. It might help. Remembering him.”

His Papa shakes his head, and is trembling all over. “I can’t,” he says, and his voice breaks. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t Blueberry.” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, and Max walks around to hold his Papa until the shaking stops. “Writing him in that book like I wrote all of my past for Alexander makes _him_ part of my past. Alexander isn’t past tense yet. He can’t be,” Magnus whispers.

After some time of holding Magnus, and soothing him with gentle shhhs, Max tries a different approach. Maybe all his Papa needs is more time after all. “Can I have the book then? There’s still space in the back to fill after all.” Magnus must have tired himself out again, because he just nods weakly at Max, not even bothering to ask what Max wants it for.

If his Papa won’t write his Dad’s story, then he’ll just have to do it himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late.  
> Also sorry this is another short chapter.  
> It gets longer starting next chapter, but to be honest, none of them are super long. I think this story will maybe reach 10,000 total once all 8 chapters are up. And so now the plot begins.
> 
> Once again, this is for the brilliant katikat/drakamena <3 Thank you for your incredible writing always my dear.  
> Also a reminder that if you want this to hurt you as much as it hurt me to write this, recommended listening is "Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story" from the musical Hamilton.
> 
> Criticism constructive or otherwise is alwas welcome.
> 
> ~Mirella


	3. The Narrative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max begins searching in the pieces his Dad left behind.

The first person he goes to is his Auntie Izzy. She’s known him her whole life after all, and has known him the longest of any of his surviving relatives. He had called ahead, and she had seemed over the moon with the idea, and invited him over for lunch and gab.

Uncle Simon assures him that he made lunch when Max eyes the meal warily.

After they finish their meal, Max pulls his Papa’s book out of his bag, and wonders how to go about this.

Where Max is unsure, his Auntie Izzy has always been certain of herself. She begins to speak without any prompt, whatsoever. “Alec…Alec was my big brother. From the day I was born, until the day he died, that was my favourite thing about him. You get it, right Max?” He doesn’t and she must see that, because she carries on with her smile she wears when she’s telling secrets. So he leans in, and she whispers, “It’s having someone who’s always on your side in the fight. When things get really bad, it’s knowing there’s someone there to protect you. It’s someone you know loves you, even when you’re fighting, and they’re being a MAJOR BUZZKILL!” she shouts to the ceiling like Alec Lightwood-Bane can hear his sister, even from heaven. She lowers her head, and smiles at Max like she hadn’t just startled the crap out of him and her husband.

“He’s in my earliest memories. Mom and Dad used to say that Alec would carry me around like a rag doll, and even though I was too little, he would try to teach me everything he’d learned in his classes. When we got older, and things got…unpleasant between Mom and me, he was always the one to offer me hugs after. When I first started dating, every time I had a break up, he’d be the one there with ice cream. Long after Mom and Dad stopped letting me into their room when I had a nightmare, Alec always let me in. He was never the talkative sort, but he was a good listener.” Max nods at that, because he knows that better than most. His Dad had never been good at offering him verbal support, but he remembers being held in strong arms, and telling his Dad all his fears about magic, and about going off into the world without him and Papa. His Dad had never said much to assuage his fears, but he reminded Max he had a key, and that he always had a home, no matter what.

“He was loyal to a fault, and worked hard for everything he had. Simon used to call him a Hufflepuff, whatever that is.” Auntie Izzy winks, and Max can’t help but snort, because they both know exactly what a Hufflepuff is, but they all like to bug Uncle Simon. “He wasn’t always perfect, and he made a lot of mistakes along the way, but Alec _learned_ from his mistakes. I think his biggest fault was that he always loved others more than he loved himself. I’m glad your Papa was able to help him with that, at least a little bit.”

The conversation lulls to a comfortable silence, for only a moment. Neither apparently heard the door open, because suddenly they’re being yelled at. “You started without me!” Auntie Izzy just laughs as Auntie Clary rolls Uncle Jace into the room.

“It wasn’t my fault you were late, Old Man,” she taunts back at him.

Max smiles at his Auntie Clary when she puts the breaks on Jace’s chair and takes a seat at the table. “How are you Max?” she asks, and Max has to blink a moment, because he can’t remember the last time someone asked _him_ that.

“Overwhelmed?” Truth be told, he isn’t certain how he’s doing, but given how much his Auntie alone has told him, and now his Uncle Jace is here too, he doesn’t know how he can possibly get everything down. He is his Papa’s son though, and starts thinking up spells for a pen that can keep up with what he’s being told faster than his hand can.

Auntie Clary puts a hand on his, and smiles. “Don’t worry. You have all the time in the world Blueberry. Alec Lightwood-Bane won’t be forgotten for a long, long time.”

“You’re starting without me _again!”_ Uncle Jace complains, and everyone only laughs at his dramatics. Honestly, it’s good to see him with so much energy. For a while after Alec had died, the family was worried that Jace wouldn’t recover from losing his _parabatai_. Then one day, Uncle Jace had called everyone, insisting that they all needed training, and told off all his children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews for being so lazy. So he’d gathered them all in the park and had run them ragged before buying them all ice cream. When asked, his Auntie Clary only said he’d woken up like that.

Uncle Jace’s answer had been that Alec would haunt him from the other side if he didn’t keep up his duties as Head of the Institute.

Max didn’t know how much he believed that, but he knows something pulled him out of his slump, and he’s thankful, because it means maybe something can get his Papa to really live again.

“I’ve got all the best stories,” Uncle Jace insists, clapping his hands on the table, loudly. “We shared a soul after all, so I know everything about him!”

“How long did it take you to realize Alec had the world’s biggest crush on you?” Auntie Clary asks casually, sipping her coffee. Uncle Jace glares at her smug expression, but there’s fondness there that belies the expression.

Uncle Jace just shakes his head at his wife, and turns back to Max. “So do you want the stories in chronological order, or from coolest, to lamest? Your Dad was a bit of a stick in the mud, so there are a lot of stories about him being embarrassingly lame. Hell, there are a lot of stories of him just plain embarrassing himself.”

“Whatever comes to mind. I don’t really have a plan for this yet,” Max answers quietly while Uncle Jace cackles.

When Jace finally looks back at Max, his eyes are full of a similar fondness that he has for his wife. “He was my first friend. When your grandparents took me in, he was the first one who knew what to do with me, which of course was to beat me in a fight.” He laughs again, much gentler now, and Max recognizes the look in his eyes, as someone looking at another time. “Of course, then I beat him, but it helped to bring me back to Earth.”

His Auntie Izzy stage whispers to add, “And then I beat them both – while wearing heels.”

Uncle Jace pointedly ignores that comment, except to flash her the middle finger, which has everyone at the table laughing. “ I would break the rules, and Alec would follow with the rule book to hit me in the head with it. Your Dad had exceptional aim, by the way.” Uncle Jace laughs at his own joke before carrying on, “But he was always there. He always had my back when it mattered most. I would lead us into trouble, and he would always be there to drag us out of it. One of my best memories was the day he agreed to be my _parabatai_. The only better memory is the day we actually became _parabatai_.” Beside him, his Auntie Clary coughs deliberately, and Uncle Jace just shrugs. “The day I got married is also up there amongst my best days. Somewhere.”

The long married couple take a minute to just mock-glare at each other, until they both burst into laughter. When they start kissing, everyone looks away, because apparently old age, and three children isn’t enough to get the passion out of their system. Max has lived with his Dad and Papa long enough though, that he’s the master of evasion, and just turns to his Uncle Simon and Auntie Izzy, to start a new topic. “So how about them new trainees? Any interesting gossip coming in from Idris?” He asks loudly, to let Uncle Jace and Auntie Clary know they’re _right there._

That seems to draw Uncle Jace’s attention, because with a pop, he’s turned his attention away from his wife, and is completely focused on being the centre of attention again. “Has anyone told you how he kissed your Papa right on the lips at what was supposed to be his wedding to your _Aunt Lydia_?” Uncle Jace looks so excited, like it’s still hot gossip that only happened yesterday.

“Everyone knows that story Uncle Jace,” Max says, blowing a raspberry. “I thought you said you had _exciting_ stories.” Everyone holds back their laughter as Jace’s expression shifts, and he regales them with all the stories about demons they fought, including all the dry wit and sarcastic comments his Dad had made at the time.

 “Well, how about how he became Consul?” Auntie Clary interrupts before her husband can tell them another story where he was the hero, and Alec cursed him out for all the rules he broke doing it. “Or how he pushed for Lydia to be Inquisitor? I know you were around back then, but you were still young, and they’re good stories besides.” Izzy and Jace both nod at that, and Simon raises his coffee cup in cheers. “Lydia and Alec were supposed to get married because of family honour and running an Institute or something like that. Obviously that failed though, when Alec left Lydia at the altar for the kiss of the century with one Magnus Bane.” They all laugh, especially Simon who remembers how ridiculously enthusiastic he was about the whole thing when it happened.

“Back then Lydia was favoured by the Clave and Inquisitor Herondale, so it was likely should she get married, she would have everything. Alec didn’t like that she should have to get married though. After Inquisitor Herondale, it was your Grandpa, but when he retired, they needed someone new. Lydia hadn’t said anything about wanting the position, and hadn’t run an Institute or had any official power since her husband died. She also hadn’t married again, and Alec said right in front of the entire Clave that it was ridiculous that someone as qualified as Lydia should only have the positions she wanted and deserved if she got married. So he nominated her, and campaigned her case. Lydia was the only one unconvinced by the end of the meeting. You’d have had to ask her what he said to convince her afterwards, but under Inquisitor Branwell, justice has been served objectively, without bias, and based on evidence from both sides, rather than just whichever side the Clave favoured. She pissed off a lot of people, and she is still the perfect Inquisitor, just like Alec knew she would be.”

“Of course, then Lydia got him back by nominating him as Consul,” Aunt Izzy butts in. “I don’t remember much of the politics that went into Alec getting the position, but his speech was incredible.”

“ _The Law is hard, but it is the Law_ ,” they all quote at once, before Jace carries on with the story. “ _Perhaps now it’s time the Law also considers being fair for all_. _We fight demons every day, and yet make enemies out of valuable allies in this war. It’s time our resources go towards building better relations with Downworlders, and helping everyone in need, other than our own.”_

“Of course, that’s the version where he didn’t stumble over every second word,” Aunt Izzy laughs.

The night carries on that way with stories of Alec Lightwood, friend, brother, and protector. Max is sure he didn’t get nearly all of it written, but he nods off at some point, because he’s only barely aware of being tucked into warm blankets on the couch, and loving voices all around wishing him pleasant dreams.

“Goodnight Blueberry,” he hears someone whisper, and kiss him on the forehead before he finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter I do believe.  
> How about them family feels?
> 
> As always criticism, constructive or otherwise, is always welcome.
> 
> ~Mirella


	4. Running Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max goes to his Aunt Lily next, and she tells him about her friend.

It takes a week, but Max finally thinks he has a spell that will properly record everything said, as he finds more people to talk to about his Dad. Of course, there will probably be some faults, since people don’t actually speak smoothly, or coherently most of the time. Maybe there’s a spell to edit that out…maybe there’s one to prevent his pen from writing all the “ums”, “uhs” and “hmms” in the first place.

Max is still figuring it out as he goes, but tonight he has an appointment to meet with his Aunt Lily. It’s supposed to be to discuss Downworlder politics, and general happenings, but he did call ahead of time to ask if he might talk to her about his Dad. She had been quiet for a moment on the phone, but she had agreed, and if Max didn’t know better, he might have said she sounded fond. He knows there’s a new Alpha to meet too, and he also knows his Papa probably won’t be up for Downworlder business for quite some time, so for now, he’s stepping in as High Warlock Representative.

He’s barely on the doorstep of the Hotel DuMort, before the door is ripped open and he’s pulled into a bone crushing hug. Max tries to hug her back, but he’s cursing his blue skin, because it doesn’t work as an indication he can’t breathe. “Air, Aunt Lily. Air,” he manages to wheeze out, and with her supernatural speed, she’s suddenly a few steps away and he’s bent over, gasping for sweet air. She smiles sheepishly, and offers him a hand back up, and they walk into the Hotel, hand in hand. He follows her without a word. A few vampires peek out to see what the commotion is, but just shrug.

_“Oh him? That’s just the Lightwood-Bane kid. He’s fine. He’s like family. He’ll probably take over the family business some day.”_

Max has heard it and all similar variations before. He does think of some of the vampires as family, and it pleases him they seem to think the same.

It also secretly pleases him to have family that don’t age, just like him.

He doesn’t know how much more heart ache he can take after this, and yet he knows he has a hundred lifetimes ahead of him of heart ache.

Aunt Lily smiles back at him, as she offers him a seat in her office, and Max smiles back, content to know at least he won’t have to face all the heart ache alone.

“So!” she declares with a clap that makes her look even more like a teenager than normal. “Let’s talk about Daddy Lightwood!” That’s one thing Max has noticed is how enthusiastic everyone seems to be to tell him about his Dad. He had worried it might be harder than this to convince people, since his own Papa was so reluctant to talk about his Dad.

Still, this is his Aunt Lily, and he is a Lightwood-Bane, so he can’t make this easy. “You don’t want to get work and politics out of the way first?” he smirks.

“Pffft! No. Besides, I know you could use this talk a lot more than you need to talk about the territory border changes and the new Alpha. She’s cool. A bit green, buts she’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Lily shrugs. That’s about as close as his Aunt has ever gotten to admitting she likes a person. Max nods, and pulls his pen, and his Papa’s notebook out.

“Okay, well, what kinds of stories do you have about my Dad? Or, what kind of person was he to you? I still don’t really know what I’m doing,” Max laughs self-deprecatingly.

“That okay squirt. I know exactly what you’re doing,” she says, putting her hand on top of his. With a quick squeeze, the moment is gone, and she claps her hands again to begin. “To start, your Dad was more than the average Shadowhunter. That is to say, he was better, because he didn’t act like one _all the time_.” She rolls her eyes, and gives him a look as if she expects him to know what she means. He’s lived with Shadowhunters his entire life though, so Max can’t exactly say he knows what it means to act like a Shadowhunter, as opposed to not acting like a Shadowhunter. He just nods, and glances down to make sure the pen is still writing properly.

“It also helped that he had two brain cells to rub together. Shadowhunters aren’t exactly famous for their brain capacity. He actually told me off once when we were drawing up territory lines, ‘Even my two year old can colour in the lines better than you Lily.’ That was you, by the way,” she adds with a wink. “Don’t tell Magnus I said this, but I’m fairly certain the only reason our Downworlder Initiative worked at all was because of your Dad. He didn’t put up with anyone’s shit. He must have had a lot of practice from your Uncle.” They both laugh at that, knowing exactly which uncle his Dad would have learned that skill from. When their laughter quiets down, Aunt Lily looks down at the table, a more somber look to her face. “He was also kind. Caring, considerate, protective. I think those are the main qualities Magnus fell in love with. Did you know he actually let me hold you? An entire room of Shadowhunters wanted to kill me, when I held you in my arms, and he didn’t even flinch at my fangs. Just rolled his eyes and said I could babysit. That may not mean a lot now, but back then…well, like I said, an entire room of Shadowhunters were ready to attack me just for being near you, and your Dad…Lightwood saw me as a person.”

Max recognises the gasping in her breath, and without a thought, he closes the book, and sits closer to her. This time he doesn’t complain about the way she crushes the air out of his lungs when she hugs him. He holds her back just as tight, and lets her cry into his shoulder, muttering a constant stream of “I miss him. I miss him. I miss him and I miss Maia.” He doesn’t mind, because he’s crying into her neck, and they must look ridiculous, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care about the bloodstain that will appear on his shoulder where his Aunt Lily is crying.

He doesn’t care that he only got a short story from Aunt Lily. It was clearly important to her, to put her in this state.

They just hold each other and cry, well into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finger guns*
> 
> Heeeeeeeeeeeeey bro ;D   
> How about that timing hey? 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed being punched in the friendship feels!
> 
> Re: the tears - I didn't read far enough into the books, but I saw a rumour online that the vampires cry in blood. If that's wrong, please correct me, and I'll correct the chapter.
> 
> Criticism, constructive or otherwise, is always welcome
> 
> *wheelies away from my feelies*
> 
> -Mirella


	5. So Much More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max doesn't really know what he's doing, but he finds new friends to help him along the way.

                With Rafael’s help, Max gets a pass to go to the Shadowhunter Academy in Idris. It will be nice to spend time with his brother, but more than that, Max has come to a stall in who else to ask about his Dad. Aunt Maia passed away shortly after his Dad, and somehow Max knew whatever he was doing wasn’t done yet.

                So he gets to accompany his brother, and his brother’s children to the Academy. He contacts his Aunt Lydia via fire message, and they arrange to meet and talk about her version of Alexander Lightwood. Which leaves him wondering what to do for the week until his scheduled meeting.

                That’s how Max finds himself wandering the school, and disturbing every class by peeking his head into every one.

                It’s a little surreal to realise that these steps are where he was found. Just a little higher is where he was put in the care of his Papa, under the assumption a Warlock would know how best to take care of an infant Warlock. At the top of the stairs is where his Dad first held him, and used to tell him, he fell in love instantly. The dorm where he and his brother are staying is even the same place where he was taken in, and where his Dad proposed to his Papa.

                He never bothered finding out who his biological parents were, but Max is infinitely grateful that through them he was able to find his family, and he would never trade them for the world.

                His thoughts have been wandering around this topic since he started this project. He still doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he never did get to ask his Aunt Lily what she meant when she said she knew what he was doing. He’ll have to remember to ask when he comes back in about a month.

                He’s just poking his head into another class, when the person lecturing at the front cries out. He’s about the make a speedy escape when they run up the stairs to where he’s standing. Before he can get out the door though, the young man blurts out, “Are you Max Lightwood-Bane?” Max turns around at his name, and surprises himself by letting the man catch up to him. “Not to generalize, but I knew that Rafael Lightwood-Bane was coming, and everyone knows Alexander Lightwood’s Warlock son is completely blue. So, are you really him?”

                Max is shocked into silence. He’s never had anyone so excited to see him, so he can only nod. That brings a bright smile to the face of whoever this excited man is, and he sticks his hand out in greeting, completely ignoring the entire class that’s staring at both of them now. “Jonathan Lovelace,” he says as they shake hands, and Max is honestly so confused. “History professor here at the Academy. Would you actually mind joining us for today’s lecture? Your input would be incredible if you have any.”

                Max hesitates for a moment, but when Jonathan’s smile starts to fall, he blurts out, “What’s the topic?” He’s not nearly old enough yet to be a valuable history resource, so Max has no idea why this history professor might think he has any valuable information to share.

                The smile is back as quickly as it left, and Max can’t help but wonder if crocodile tears are a hereditary, Nephilim trait. He pulls Max down the stairs to the front of the class, and gives him the quick summary, “Obviously we’re not going over everything today, but a few topics we’re covering this semester are closely related to events your father had a direct impact on.” Max can practically feel the notebook in his bag screaming to come out, crying out to be filled with whatever this historian of sorts has to tell him. So as he’s unceremoniously pushed into a chair at the front, he pulls out his pen and notebook, and listens intently.

                “Sorry about that everyone, but back on topic now. Today we’re going over modern Shadow World relations.” Max can’t help but smile now as he takes down all the text book stories of how more progress had been made in the last half century to improve relations with Downworlders than had been accomplished in most of the time Shadowhunters had existed for. At every turn, Alexander Lightwood had been the spearhead towards the positive change. Starting in New York, he had begun the Downworlder Counsel, and in his travels, he’d managed to initiate a few more in different cities until they had been made commonplace in most central hubs of Downworlder populations.

                “It was also under Consul Lightwood, and Inquisitor Branwell’s time in power, that marriage between Downworlders and Nephilim was made equal. This was not the first attempt made to introduce equal marriage rights, but it was the first in a long line of successes in improving Downworlder rights.” Lovelace turned to Max to smile at him after that, and Max couldn’t help but smile back. He knew all these things about his Dad – even knew how quickly his Dad and Papa had arranged their own wedding after the Law had passed. It was an incredibly new experience to know that others were being taught about his Dad, to know the extent of the impact he’d had on their world. “On a side note,” the young professor continued, “He was also the first openly gay Shadowhunter. This opened a lot of doors, and created many new opportunities for other Shadowhunters. It took time, but the Clave eventually had to acknowledge that not all Shadowhunters are straight. What was once considered a crime, punishable by banishment, and being stripped of one’s runes became widely accepted, and since then, many LGBT have come out, and have lived on the become prominent members of Shadowhunter society.”

                The lecture goes on for a while longer, before the bell chimes announcing the end of class. Jonathan looks up at the noise, startled, as if he hadn’t been expecting his lecture to end quite so soon. Max can’t help laughing at his expression, but like the rest of the class, starts packing up his things. He’d just have to find somewhere else to cause mischief.  The movement seems to catch Jonathan’s attention though, because once again, he’s right in front of Max in an instant. Max blinks, and is just starting to mumble a shy “Thank you,” before he’s interrupted.

                “Sorry we didn’t get to actually talk to you about anything. This must have been so boring hearing everything you already know about Alexander Lightwood. It’s just – he did _so much_ , and I’m not even just talking about the politics! He was a bit of my hero growing up,” Jonathan admits sheepishly at the end.

                Max laughs, not unkindly, and whispers, as if he’s admitting a big secret, “No worries. He was my hero too.” Now Max is offering his hand for shaking, “Thank you for having me. It’s one thing to know my Dad was Consul, and all the Laws he passed, and all that, but it’s something else entirely to hear it from an outside perspective.” He says it because it’s true, and he adds, “I’m actually working on a bit of a project, and collecting different stories on him, so this was great.” He holds up his book as he says it, and watches Jonathan nod in understanding. “I didn’t realise just how much he meant to so many people. Like, he was amazing to me because he was my Dad, but I’m already learning how much he meant to other people.”

                “Alexander Lightwood really left a mark on this Earth. He’ll be remembered for a long time,” Jonathan agrees, sounding more solemn now.

                “He would tell you to call him Alec,” Max tries to lighten the mood with a laugh.

                “He already did,” Jonathan laughs back. “I only met him once, but almost right away after I called him by his full name and title he muttered that I should just call him Alec. He was so human, it was hard to believe he was the same man who had been an integral part of the wars, and who went on to change the entire world we live in. You know what?” Jonathan stops to dig into his own bag for a pen and paper, and scribbles something down. “Here’s my number,” he says handing over the scrap of paper. “If you ever want to talk about him, or hear any more ‘outsider perspectives’ you can almost always get a hold of me there. It would mean a lot to me.” Max takes the paper, and is about to thank Jonathan again when he blurts out, “Or if you just wanted to meet and talk about anything really. I’d like to know more about you too.”

                And of course, Max is his Dad’s son when it comes to flirting, so he blushes and stutters his way out of the lecture hall, and nearly trips up the stairs twice in his retreat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picked a random name for a chapter that kind of wrote itself, and ummmm...  
> We got a love-interest! Congratulations Max Lightwood-Bane! I hadn't intended on it, but there you have it!
> 
> I should really consider renaming this story "Whoops" for how often I've said it at this point XD
> 
> Criticism, constructive or otherwise, is always welcome.
> 
> -Mirella


	6. When I Was Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was like a Queen to him. The strongest woman in a family of nothing but strong women, and his Aunt Lydia missed her best friend dearly.

                By the end of the week, Max thinks he has the kinks worked out of his pen, and he’s even had to expand his notebook with how much Jonathan has told him. He doesn’t quite know what precisely is building between him and Jonathan, but he at least thinks of them as friends for now. Maybe they could be more, but he’s not entirely sure how well he could handle a long distance relationship with someone twenty years younger than him, and…who will die long before he will. He doesn’t want to make any promises he can’t keep.

                At least for the moment though, he has a distraction in the form of his Aunt Lydia. Her housekeeper has him set up in the living room while she finishes up with some important business. There’s a big court case where some werewolves got attacked during a demon hunt, and a lot of finger pointing if the demons or Shadowhunters are to blame for the werewolf injuries. Some are even saying the werewolves are to blame for being there in the first place. It’s overly complicated, and highly political, but as always his Aunt Lydia is going through all the evidence with a fine-toothed comb. She’ll get to the bottom of it, Max is sure, even if she is in her seventies now, and everyone is convinced she should retire. Rumour has it she’s been training someone to take her place, and continue her work, but Max isn’t allowed to say which of his cousins is most likely to be named the next Inquisitor.

                After fidgeting for a few minutes on the couch, and playing with his magic to edit out some of the odd bits from earlier stories he’d collected on his Dad, Max looks up at the door opening and smiles up at his Aunt. To him, she had always looked like a Queen, and even now, she was as regal as ever. She walks more slowly than when he was little, and she needs a cane, but that just adds to the royal image he has of her. She raises a hand to stop him before he can stand and help her to the couch, and even though she takes her time, she makes it, and sits down beside him, always the epitome of dignity.

                “Now,” she begins, voice full of authority, “You said you wanted stories about Alec.” He nods in anticipation of what she has to say. After some time spent considering, she nods to herself, and smiles in a way that Max can see the young woman his Dad had almost married. “He was my best friend,” she admits quietly. “I loved him. Not like Magnus loves him. Not quite like Jace, or Isabelle, or any of the rest of you love him, but in my own way, I did love Alec.” Max is sure the surprise shows on his face. If she felt this way, all this time…“I think you still misunderstand Max,” she says with a gentle hand over his own. “Alec and I, we understood each other. We both believed in the Law above all else. We believed that hard work, and intelligent strategy were key in accomplishing our goals. He was a man of honour, and he was brilliant. Of course he was also incredibly dumb, seeing as it took him until Magnus stepped into our wedding at the last minute to realize he would be miserable in a political marriage, but he was very good at seeing the much bigger picture when he wanted to. It’s why he asked me to marry him. He valued family above all else, and when his family was in danger of losing everything, he was willing to sacrifice his life and happiness for them. He also knew I had lost everything. I think he also knew I would never love anyone the way I had loved my first husband John. He was willing to marry me, to make my dreams come true, and he had only just met me.”

                They sit in silence for a moment, and Max is glad he spelled the pen to write for him, because he’s not sure he’d have been able to keep up with everything that’s just been unloaded on him. “Letting him go was the best decision I ever made,” she continues, seemingly unaware that Max’s head is still spinning with all this new information. “He was willing to give up his life to make my dreams come true. It was only fair that I could give up my dreams to give him his life. Plus, I don’t think he would have ever admitted it, but I think if we had gotten married, he would have grown to hate me. Not immediately. Even if we’d had separate rooms, and ran an Institute together, never had sex, and never had children, I think over the years he would have begun to hate me, just because I would represent to him, never knowing what _could_ have been. And that, that would have broken my heart. Alec deserved all the happiness he got in life. In the end it worked out much better this way, and we both got what we wanted out of life.” She moves her free hand up to cup Max’s face, and his chest warms knowing in that gesture she means him.

                That she means him, and his brother, and his Papa.

                “There’s not a day I don’t miss him,” she says, and Max is surprised to hear her voice shaking. His Aunt Lydia who is one of the strongest women he knows in a family of nothing but strong women. That something could make her voice tremble may be even more shocking of a revelation than the idea that she loved his Dad. “You still have such a long life ahead of you Max,” she whispers, and he purposefully ignores the tears on the edges of her eyes. “Live a long and happy life, just like he did. There will be hard times, and times you doubt yourself, but never doubt that you have people who love you, and are looking out for you. He loved you, _so much._ So please, live a long, long time, and make as many happy memories as you can. He’d want that more than anything else.” Now Max is ignoring his own tears, even as his Aunt Lydia is wiping them away with her thumb.

                He wants to know when he’ll be able to hear about his Dad and not cry.

                More than that, he wants to be happy, if that’s what his Aunt Lydia thinks would make his Dad happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold my favourite platonic love, and my Queen <3  
> I wasn't able to verbalize all my feelings for Lydia and Alec's friendship, but I think that's okay, because some aspects of friendship can't be explained.  
> Not too much to say about this except that I almost cried writing this too. Almost dried editing it. Almost cried a lot in general XD I threw in a few headcanons, if you couldn't tell.
> 
> As always, criticism, constructive or otherwise, is always welcome.
> 
> -Mirella


	7. I Rely On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their month away in Idris is up, and it's time for the Lightwood-Banes to go home.

“I am one hundred percent certain you did not bring this much crap with you to Idris,” Max complains loudly and dramatically, as he helps Rafael haul his stuff to the Portal, back to his brother’s place.

“Shut up. It’s not like you even need to carry it, you lazy bum,” Rafael sticks his tongue back out at Max, because they are both mature fifty year olds. “You could have even just teleported it if you didn’t want to carry it.”

“Or levitate it!” his youngest niece, Eliza pipes up enthusiastically. “Oooh! Ooh! Float me! Float me Uncle Max!” she shouts, and with a roll of his eyes, Max has her floating in a sparkly, purple cloud through the Portal.

Rafael and Max both laugh at her enthusiastic “Wheeeeee!” as she disappears.

“You know, Papa is still jealous at how pretty your magic is,” Rafael says casually changing the subject. “I bet you he would trade his blue fire for your sparkly mist any day if he knew how.” Max can’t help laughing at that because he could totally see his Papa making that bargain. “You’re still staying for dinner, right?” he asks, and when Max nods yes, Rafael smiles back. “Good,” he says before disappearing backwards into the Portal.

Somehow Rafael had ended up with their Papa’s flair for the dramatics, meanwhile, Max preferred to step through like a normal person. He does take Rafael’s advice though, and teleports the rest of their stuff to Rafael’s room. It’s exhausting, but so is physically carrying everything back and forth. Once he’s through the Portal, he closes it, and collapses on his brother’s couch, while said brother is being smothered in affection by his husband and wife. Of course, this means he and all the children have to make faces at the ridiculously loving trio.

After some more minutes of goofy faces from everyone, Rafael excuses himself and Max, and takes his younger brother into his office. This is how Max knows that whatever his brother has to tell him is serious. If it weren’t, they’d be experimenting with terrible ideas and coffee in the kitchen. Even sitting on the couch in his office, instead of at the desk doesn’t do anything to calm Max for what was to come.

Rafael looks him over appraisingly for a moment in silence, and every moment that drags on, only serves to set Max more on edge. Max isn’t ready, when Rafael finally asks, “How’s Papa?”

Because Rafael hasn’t been there. He’s tried. Of course he’s tried, but he hasn’t physically been there. He hasn’t seen their Papa closing himself off, and crumbling without their Dad. He hasn’t seen the way their Papa for a few minutes in the morning, or very, very late at night, will forget that their Dad is gone.

He hasn’t seen the way it crushes their Papa when he remembers.

Max suddenly finds his shoes very interesting.

“Do you remember how bad Dad’s Spanish always was?”

Max whips his head up quickly at the sudden change in topic, confusion clear on his face. “Yes?” he replies, more a question than an answer.

Rafael nods, smiling to himself before continuing. “And remember that one time we had Auntie Izzy, Uncle Simon, and Grandma over, and we all spoke in nothing but Spanish?” Max nods, even if the memory is vague by now. He’d been very small at the time, and hadn’t spoken much Spanish himself, but he babbled more in the language than his Dad could speak. Rafael leans over to nudge his brother in the shoulder, and just stays there, “I’d barely been part of the family for more than a month, and yet everyone made sure I felt included. Dad worked so hard to learn after that, just so I’d never feel like I didn’t belong.”

“He was still so bad at it.”

“So bad,” Rafael agrees, and Max laughs, even now remembering all the times their Dad had banged his head into the table or wall, in frustration with the language everyone else in their family spoke fluently. He tried so hard though, so no one ever gave him too much grief for his mispronunciation, and mixed up sentences.

Not _too much_ anyway.

“Even though we didn’t always speak the same language, Dad and I could always understand each other, in a way.” Rafael carries on, and Max wonders where and when his brother is seeing right now, because it certainly isn’t here and now. “When I first met him, he didn’t understand a word I said, but he knew I could see him, and that I wanted him to follow me. Then when I showed him the demon, I knew he was telling me to hide and stay safe, even though I didn’t know English yet. After he killed it…I don’t honestly remember if it was him or me, but without saying anything, we took each others’ hands, and Dad didn’t let go until I was safe and asleep in one of the Institute beds. He stayed with me the whole time he was there, and let me follow him into the city. He actually bought me my first pair of light up sneakers.”

“I thought you came with those!” Max exclaims, remembering Rafael always wearing light up shoes when they were children. His earliest memories of Rafe all involve brightly lit sneakers, perfect for running after monsters and cats.

“Nope. Dad bought them for me. One of our more hilarious miscommunications at the time,” Rafe laughs, probably well aware of the contradiction between saying he and Dad had always understood each other, and then following that with a story of their misunderstanding. Max waits patiently for his brother to continue the story, while a thought prods at the back of his brain that he’s forgetting something. “We were just wandering around, and I stopped to watch some people dancing in the street. When I eventually looked away, Dad was looking at me. After that, he took my hand again and led us to a mall. He bought me light up sneakers, because one of the dancers had been wearing a pair, and he thought that was what caught my eye.”

“Dad willingly went shopping?” Max asks, more than slightly appalled and skeptical. “Dad willingly went shopping, in a _mundane_ mall?!”

“I didn’t realize at the time just how special that made me,” Rafael confesses with another laugh. Max can’t help but laugh too. His brother’s laughter has always been infectious. “And even though it was a complete accident, and Dad was embarrassed later, I loved those shoes. Not because they lit up, but because they were my first real gift. He didn’t even know me, but he thought I liked something, and got it for me, just because.”

 It’s becoming obvious just how happy his Dad must have made everyone. All the stories and memories everyone has told him so far have been full of laughter, and have made his family smile again. Far too late into the conversation, Max remembers his book, and panics. “Ah! Wait- Rafe!-“ Max turns and starts digging through his bag, panic getting worse when he can’t find his Papa’s book immediately. He’s sure he put it in his side satchel before leaving Idris. “Just give me a minute,” he mumbles, really digging to the bottom now, and reminding himself to breathe. “Could you maybe repeat those stories please Rafe? I’m working on something for Papa, and-“ A light thump on the back of his head forces him to look up, and glare at his big brother, who’s all smiles and light wrinkles etched into tan skin.

He’s far too smug, but he’s also holding their Papa’s book. “The day I can’t steal something from right under my baby brother’s nose is a sad day indeed,” Rafael says handing the book back to Max.

Max turns his glare on the book in his hands now, well aware it was the weapon that’s going to bruise his ego far longer than his skull. Before he gets himself out of his pout though, Rafael is walking to the door. “C’mon. Nadiya brought some new coffee home for us to experiment with.  I think we might actually be able to make that 48 hour elixir with this stuff, and Lawrence should be just about done in the kitchen anyway.”

“Wait, Rafe!” Max stands and reaches out for his brother’s sleeve, just like he always has. “Could you-?”

Rafael takes Max by the hand holding the book, and gives it a squeeze. “All my stories are all in there. All my happiest memories with you, Papa, and Dad in that little book. For eternity. Maybe like this, I’m a little immortal too. What kind of big brother would I be if I couldn’t do this much?”

And Max doesn’t know what to say to that. His words are stuck in his throat, and he can’t respond when Rafael whispers, “I can’t be here for you and Papa forever, as much as I want to, but I promise I will always be your big brother Max.” Rafael hugs him tight, and lets Max cry as long as he needs to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hows about them family feels?  
> Sorry this chapter took so long. It's been sort of a busy week. I don't have as much of the next chapter written as I'd like, so it might be another while between this an the next chapter. Definitely before Christmas!  
> EXCITING NEWS THOUGH! Next chapter is the last on this roller coaster of happy-sads!
> 
> But yeah, this was one of my favourites to write, because I'm a sucker for family feels, and supportive big brothers, and I inserted a few headcanons in here if you didn't notice (also more Hamilton references). I actually got the sneaker idea shortly after the flower book came out and everyone was freaking out about malec having another kid. I enjoyed writing this a lot, because it came so easily, just writing the sass and inside jokes and comfortable familiarity of these two.
> 
> I have a lot of feels.
> 
> Criticism, constructive or otherwise, is always welcome.
> 
> -Mirella


	8. Who Tells Your Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max comes home.

Max is hesitating on his childhood doorstep. He's gone to do what he'd set out to do, and filled his Papa's book with all new stories. He knows his Dad better now than he had when he was alive. He knows just what his Dad meant to so many people now.

He knows his Dad as the protective older brother.

He knows his Dad as the parabatai and best friend of the great legend Jace Lightwood.

He knows his Dad as the respected Consul, who changed the world.

He knows his Dad who had fought for equal rights, and equal love.

He knows his Dad as the friend, who helped others before he was asked.

He knows his Dad...he knows his Dad as Dad. He knows his Dad as his and Rafe's hero with the impossibly big heart. From the moment both of them had been adopted, their Dad had loved them unconditionally.

He knows that same love had been given to his Papa, and that is how Max finds the courage to open the door.

"Papa?" Max calls out when his presence isn't immediately acknowledged. He's a little worried when he still doesn't hear anything. Maybe his Papa went out? That would certainly be an improvement from the state his Papa was in when he left him.

He's a little surprised, and a little relieved when he finds his Papa at his work table, with his headphones in. It's obvious he's not completely over the death of Alec Lightwood-Bane, or else he'd be humming and dancing, the way he always had, but he's working, which is a good sign. Of course, then an anxious thought creeps into Max's head, that maybe it was him holding his Papa back from recovering. Maybe it was his fault his Papa could barely get out of bed before. Maybe he reminded his Papa too much that his Dad was-

"Blueberry?"

Max startles out of his thoughts at the sound of his Papa's voice, and he looks up to see him pulling out his headphones and looking straight at him. Max hadn't thought he could be seen from behind the corner, but obviously he was wrong. It's just like it was growing up, spying with Rafe, only for their Papa to invite him over to learn his spells.

What startles him most though is the growing smile on his Papa’s face as he steps around the work bench and comes towards Max. It's small, but it's still a smile. "C'mon, I see you there. Do I get a hug?"

It's instinctual, the way he falls into his Papa's arms. "Welcome home," is whispered into his ear, and Max can admit to himself that he missed this. This easy affection that has never been in short supply in their family. With a final squeeze, his Papa pulls away, but is still in easy arms length, as he pulls Max back with him. "You can help me with this potion, while you tell me about your trip to Idris," Magnus says, and turns back to his work table.

Max is still confused, but follows without a word. One thing that stands out is just how tidy and organized the work space is. His Papa has always believed in organized disasters, even when it drove his Dad up the wall. Max realizes quickly after that, that the organizing shelves and jars that his Dad got for his Papa years and years ago are set up, and actually being used. His Papa must notice where his gaze is, because he looks almost shy when he explains, “I thought I might try it out. Something new. I have to admit everything having its own place for me to always find it, isn’t _terrible_.” Magnus rolls his eyes jokingly, and that doesn’t quite answer all the questions Max has.  “And how are you? How was Idris?”

Max just shrugs. Things aren’t going as he’d planned, so now he doesn’t really know what to say. So instead he looks at the spell book on the table, and starts putting together the potion his Papa was working on, just to have something to do with his hands. His Papa joins in, not minding the silence, or else just waiting for him to eventually say something. Once the potion has started bubbling, Max doesn’t really have any other way to avoid speaking, so as always, he just blurts out the first thing on his mind. “You-“  he pauses as if thinking will make the outcome any better.

_You’re smiling._

_You’re out of bed._

_You took a shower._

_You look…like you’re not dying._

“You seem better,” he finally settles on, and forces himself to look at his Papa as he says it.

His Papa is scratching at the table with his nail, and avoiding his gaze now. An old habit, he’s explained, from days when he used to carve sigils and summoning circles with his bare hands. “Your Auntie Biscuit called and told me to pull my head out of my ass. Well, she didn’t say it quite like that, but the thought was there. Your Uncle Jace on the other hand used those exact words.” He snorts at his own explanation, “So while you and your brother were away…well, I won’t say I’ve gotten myself completely together yet, but I can at least say I’m no longer wearing my ass as a hat. I’ve…stopped wasting time. I know I have all the time in the world, but that’s no reason to miss what’s happening now.” His Papa looks up, and looks his straight in the eye. “Thank you for being so patient with me Blueberry.”

Slowly, a smile forms itself on his face. Of course, the potion chooses that exact moment to boil over. His Papa flinches away from the table, and quickly swoops in to save the day as always. Max jumps away, and clutches his bag out of the way of any possible spray. He’s learned the hard way enough times to not trust a magic potion to _not_ explode. Just to be absolutely safe though, he takes his book out of the bag, and inspects it for any signs of magical damage.

He’s just flipping through the pages when his Papa speaks up again. “That’s…the book I gave…” The absolutely devastated expression on his Papa’s face is one Max has been more familiar with in the months since his Dad’s passing. His Papa is trembling, and Max only knows this from the shaking ladle in his hand, giving him away. Max has no idea what to do, and he normally hates going by his guts, but just this once, he wants to follow his instincts.

So, he grabs his Papa by the arm, and sits him down on the table bench. With a look more determined than he feels, Max almost pushes the book into his Papa’s hands, and Magnus looks at the book, a little lost, and clearly confused by the much larger size. Max takes a deep breath, and tries to explain around his stutter. “It-it's...it's..." Suddenly what had seemed so difficult to grasp before is blatantly obvious.

"It's Dad's story. Right next to yours. It's his story, through the eyes of everyone who loves him." Max didn't stop to correct himself. Like his Papa had said all that time ago, Alec Lightwood wasn't past tense yet. "He...Dad was so important, to so many people Papa. He did so much."

His Papa looks back down at the book, with this new light shed on the matter. He looks almost reverent as he opens it, passes the earlier pages of his own life, and goes on to where his life with his Alexander begins. He flips through page after page, at times reading parts very quickly, as if he needs to know what happens next. Sometimes slowing down to read, and read, and Max can only imagine he’s either reading certain passages over and over again, or else he’s lost in his own thoughts, in a different time and place. More than once, he stops and brushes his fingers over the obvious tear stains left by more than one person. Max doesn’t want to admit how many of the tears wrinkling the pages are his own.

Eventually, his Papa comes to the very end. The sun has long gone down, and Max has been holding his breath for a while, wondering more than once if this was a good idea or not. Magnus stares at the few blank pages at the end of the book in silence. Then, without warning, he speaks for the first time in hours. "Alexander," he whispers, and with a sniffle, he looks up to the ceiling, smiling, blinking as if to keep the tears out of his eyes. "Look at our son Alexander. How did we get so lucky?" Max can only stare, dumbfounded as his Papa closes his eyes, and looks like a great weight has been taken off his shoulders.

After what feels like a small eternity, Max sits down across from his Papa, and puts a hand above the one holding the book open. Magnus blinks back to reality, a few stray tears rolling down his face. His Papa smiles, and that says more than words could ever hope to.

_Thank you._

_I love you._

_I miss him._

_He would be so proud of you._

_I am so proud of you_.

And so much more.

"There's still room in there for the most important story of Alexander Lightwood-Bane," Max says quietly, brushing the book with his magic to add more pages.

His Papa laughs, and nods. However, when Max tries to take the book back, Magnus holds on, and there's mischief, and an infinite amount of love in his eyes. He picks up a pen from the table, and pulls the book out of Max's hold. "You're right. So Blueberry, tell me your story of Alexander Lightwood-Bane."

 Max blinks in surprise, his mouth hanging open. This is the last thing he was expecting when he made his way home today. He stays that way until his face breaks into a smile, and his throat makes a sound that’s half laugh, half sob. He hangs his head, and can’t help the smile still on his face. With a nod, he reaches again for his Papa’s free hand, and takes a deep breath. It’s a long story after all.

“Well, it begins with a man who answered the question ‘Who could ever love it?’ by saying, ‘I can’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, anyone else crying?
> 
> A few notes about this chapter:
> 
> 1) My favourite paragraph is actually when Max finally realizes what it is he's been working on all along. The one hit me like a ton of bricks to the feels let me tell you <3 Also keeping in mind, that as I'm typing it on my phone, so I don't forget it, on my way home, autocorrect decided I needed an extra gut punch by changing "loved" to "loves" and let me just say sub zero temperatures are bad for getting teary eyed when your phone does a thing. It was perfect, so I kept it.
> 
> 2) Bonus scene I couldn't make fit without ruining the mood = “By the way, whoever it is you were talking to for this part about Alexander’s contributions to same sex and Shadowhunter-Downworlder marriages, was most definitely flirting with you. = Wait, do you have a crush Max? Does my blue, demi, baby like someone? They must be very special.” 
> 
> 3) WE'RE DONE! Told you I'd have this up in time for Christmas! Heck! I'm even in time for Hanukkah and Kwanzaa!
> 
> This has been a beautiful experience, just writing this, and I'm so happy how it came together in the end. Thank you to everyone reading and commenting <3 You mean a lot to me!
> 
> Come visit me at only-1-a on tumblr
> 
> Criticism, constructive or otherwise is always welcome.
> 
> -Mirella

**Author's Note:**

> So I may have made myself cry while writing this fic.  
> If I made you cry or tear up reading this, let me know, because there's more to come.
> 
> This is a present for katikat, or drakamena on tumblr, who writes the best of angst, and fluff, and breaks and mends and prompt twists in "All Things Shadowhunters". It could be considered a follow up to her chapter "Sleep, My Love" although I technically thought of the idea before it was written. However, writing fics as gifts is always good inspiration to finishing them.
> 
> Loosely (very loosely) based on the song "Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story"
> 
> Love you all <3
> 
> ~Mirella


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